


A close shave

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [31]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, From Harrenhal to King's Landing, Jaime wants a shave, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime manages to find himself a razor, but one-handed, he isn't able to do much.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 16
Kudos: 115





	A close shave

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he cursed, when his cheek was decorated with what he counted as the fourth cut since he had begun.

Putting the razor away, Jaime busied himself with cleaning up this new piece of nuisance. Battle scars, he could deal with. Torture wounds came a close second. But this stupid inability to get rid of his beard--

With a disgruntled look at his stump, he began dabbing the droplets of blood away and sat back, thinking, ruminating his fate, wondering, with what face, could he possibly return to the father who had lived all his life with high hopes and impossible dreams for his eldest son and heir. A knight of the Seven Kingdoms, he was supposed to be, yet, a shave, he couldn’t successfully manage, couldn’t--

“Is something wrong?” 

Brienne stepped in hesitantly. “I heard you shout and I thought--” Her gaze followed his bare torso down to the loincloth between his legs, the only thing he had worn. “My apologies,” she mumbled, turning away. “The door was ajar and I entered--”

“You’ve seen a lot more of me than this, wench.” He beckoned her to enter. “Now come on here and help me with this--”

“A razor? Why did you even try with your wrong hand--what if you had slit your throat--” Her eyes flew to his face. “You’ve hurt yourself--”

“My face has seen far worse than this.” He went back to a reclined position and handed her the blade. “Finish this for me, Brienne.”

“I’ll have Steelshanks or someone to help you out.” 

She turned to leave, but he seized her wrist to hold her back. “You’re not telling them anything about this,” he hissed, pulling her towards his chair. “I managed to have one of the helper boys smuggle this to me. I can’t have our escorts snatch it away before it serves its purpose.”

She deliberated his demand as if he’d asked her to spar with the Mountain. That, perhaps, she’d have complied with, too, but the prospect of shaving a man seemed to have chopped off her tongue. 

After a painful spell of contemplation, she took the razor and dipped it in the basin of water to clean it.

She began with the strips of his hair in front of his ears, one at a time, drawing the sharp edge along the direction of the hair growth, gently and carefully, yet firm enough to uncover clean skin. Then she went on to correct the shoddy attempt he’d made on his cheeks, cautious to go around the nicks he’d given himself.

“You seem pretty good at it,” he remarked, when she rinsed the blade again. “Have you done it before? For the men in Renly’s camp?”

Choosing to ignore him, she went about her task quietly, her left hand holding his face whilst her right resumed those expert stokes, down his cheek and chin. Having nought else to do, Jaime found himself drifting into thoughts unbidden, eyes straying to the column of her neck, her scar, her bosom, heaving up and down as she breathed, quite distracting and--

“Stop squirming like a boy if you don’t want to shed any more blood,” she barked, steadying him with a firm hand to his shoulder.

He shifted, trying to cover the twitch between his legs, and for a while, his decision to stare vacantly at his foot worked.

But as soon as she made it to his neck, a finger and her thumb to his throbbing pulse and the blade kissing the underside of his ear, he jumped up with a jolt--

“Sit still.”

He obeyed, but nothing he could think of after that could bring him relief. He shivered when she slowly slid those wayward fingers downwards, his breathing getting quicker with every breath she exhaled down his face, and his cock harder, his growing feelings for her surpassing all else, his need to touch and kiss and--

“Ser Jaime,” she chided him again, an impatient edge to her voice. “If you’re not--”

The rest of her reprimand never made it to his ears when he grabbed her wrist again. “Brienne--” 

And he could see it in her eyes too -- the fire, burning bright and high, hungry, eager to consume. Her lips shivered apart, but she made no attempt to get away, no effort to get rid of his hand.

“Tell me to stop this, wench.” He jerked her into his lap, the press of her ass on his engorged cock, sparking an ache in the pit of his belly. “Just push me away, kick me in the balls--”

“Why would I do that?” she replied huskily, and dropping the razor to the ground, she bent her face to his, her fingertips dancing down his chest, lower and lower, along the trail of hair leading to his groin. “Why would I--”

Letting go of her wrist, he brought his hand to the back of her neck, and yanking her head down with an aggression he couldn't hold back, he pressed his lips to hers, inviting her to the realm that was _him._

And the rest was no less than magic.

Her mouth, his tongue. Her hands, his chest. His arm, her waist. 

Their bodies…

She kissed him back, sucking his lip, nipping at his tongue, clumsy and awkward, yet, perfectly seductive, and he surrendered in awe, speechless and breathless, needy and helpless.

He had been wanting this since Harrenhal. Maybe even before that. He was burning to be with her, inside her, in her heart and mind. He could feel her pulsing through his blood, his head buzzing with everything he wanted to do to her. He was ready to walk past the gates of their inhibitions with her, to take her somewhere she had never been to before, to hold her hand and lead her into a pleasurable journey from being a maiden, shunned and discarded, to a lady, loved and cared-for.

He drew away from her lips to seek it out in her eyes, to banish all her pain and fulfill every dream. “Brienne--”

“I want you,” she said, with a slight nervous tremble of her chin, but the storm in those eyes was fierce enough to knock him down, to sweep him away, her strong ache for him, the urge to be one with him, no less than what he was going through.

Abandoning the chair and the rags that struggled to hold on to his erection, they kissed their way to the bed, three frantic hands working on her clothes, his fumbling fingers itching to get her as naked as he was, his blood, singing, body, alive like never before, his cock, eager to be where it was meant to be.

She lay back, her lips spreading their warmth along his again as her arms and legs encircled him, welcoming him into her intimate embrace.

He pushed in a gentle finger when she spread her legs, and when she whimpered in delight, he moaned into her mouth, enjoying her pleasure and the sensation of being buried and lost within her. He fucked her with his fingers, caressing her soft and slow, then drilling in at a dizzying pace until she gasped and arched, until she punished him with hard, wild kisses, until she was aroused and excited, her nails digging into his back, her raspy cries floating down his ears, begging him for more.

He entered her, her soft, warm wet cunt enveloping him, gripping him, and then releasing as he began filling her with thrust after thrust. 

Soft moans. Gentle whispers. Grunts of hunger, of passion, of a bonding beyond two bodies... 

He wanted this moment to freeze and trap them in it until the end of time. He needed nothing else than to make gentle love to her, to dive in and keep going, to get her pulse rising until her heavy breathing echoed through the room, to fill her tenderly until he was utterly and completely contained inside her, nerves and flesh, forever, sheathed in her, his soul and heart, wed to her in a bond eternal, a part of her. 

Every minute spent like this was as precious as the other, one he would want to revisit again and again. 

“Jaime,” she sighed, her fingers strolling through his hair, her teeth tugging his earlobe when she surrendered to her body, to the peak of their togetherness, to the beginning of something new.

And he gave in to her.

He left the world behind.

From this moment, he was hers, every beat of his heart, existing only for her. And like this, he wanted to spend every night he had left. In her bed. Holding her shaking body as they recovered together from an explosive climax. Drifting away into a state between dream and consciousness in her arms. 

Until peace was all there was. And her.

The sound of her breathing was his music, her skin, the softest he’d worn, her eyes, the brightest jewels.

She was the one he loved.

“That wasn’t a bad job with a razor, wench. Not bad at all,” he teased, after a comforting phase of soft embraces and silent understanding. “I’m counting on you to shave my beard for the rest of my life.”

Her chin resting on his chest, she looked up at him. “For the rest of your life?”

“A one-handed man has the right to ask this much of his wife, doesn’t he?” He playfully tapped the bridge of her nose. “A _close_ shave like the one you gave me today, Brienne,” he whispered, his lips seeking hers again.

When she answered him with a smile and a radiant glow of love on her face, he started kissing her again. The last one year had been hell, but while he had lost a hand, he had gained so much more. She had become an important part of him, his world. 

And he wanted to be surrounded by her if that was all he could ever have.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading :)


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